


Picture perfect

by assassi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Firefighter Derek Hale, Guilt, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Mates, Pictures, Redemption, Sheriff Stiles Stilinski, Therapy, They all get therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 09:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17864882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassi/pseuds/assassi
Summary: “You okay there?”Stiles blinked once, twice, slowly returning to reality… where Chris and Peter were obviously a couple… who lived together in a white-fenced house with two cars and…“Woff!”…yep, even a fucking dog.“I think I need a drink”, he said weakly.





	1. The story

Stiles stared at the airport’s timetable blankly, still trying to wrap his head around… everything. He’d had a plan: he’d graduate from Quantico, top of the class, and become the best FBI agent and make his father proud.

His father…

…was just the reason he was here in the first place. Lost as he had been for a while after his wife’s death, he was still Stiles’ hero. He was Stiles’ role model and inspiration. His reason not to give up into the darkness and keep fighting; stay alive and make the best of that life.

His whole life had turned upside down.

Someone stood next to him and looked at the table. Stiles registered that with his peripheral vision but paid the man no mind. Until,

“Coming or going?”

Stiles opened his mouth to respond. He had halfway turned around to face the man when the voice registered. A very familiar voice.

His words died in his throat as he stared right into those scarily pale blue eyes. Seriously, they were almost white and if Stiles didn’t know any better he’d say they were supernatural.

They were also smiling warmly as Chris regarded him with fond exasperation at Stiles’ reaction.

Stiles cleared his throat and tried for an answering smile as he said,

“Going. I’m going home.”

* * *

 

“I’m sorry about your dad”, Chris said, eyes firmly on the road as he drove with ease.

Their flight had been spent in blessed silence as if the ex-hunter knew how much Stiles needed it to sort out the mess in his head; to prepare for the moment he would dive right back into his childhood nightmare – his hometown. The car had been waiting for them at the small airport just outside of the city and Stiles assumed it was Chris’; there was something in the way he drove it, something in the way it smelled, like gunpowder and something else very familiar that Stiles couldn’t exactly place right now.

“So how is he?”, Chris asked carefully.

 _Like you’d expect after a bullet wound_ , Stiles wanted to say. But hey. Chris was trying.

“They said he was fine, considering. Mellissa sounded hopeful.”

Chris nodded.

“Do you want me to… give you a lift to the hospital?”

Stiles clenched his jaw, hard, and swallowed a few times before he gave a curt nod and a hoarse “thank you”.

* * *

 

He looked pale, so pale. And old. When had he gotten so old? Last time Stiles saw him Noah Stilinski had been so energetic, full of happiness, full of… life.

Had it been so long since Stiles last saw him? So long since he had gotten back home?

A small hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and he turned to look at Mellissa. Her smile was a little sad as her eyes bored into him with the look of someone who knew him so well it almost hurt.

“Don’t blame yourself. Your father would hate that”, she said.

He smiled back bitterly. It was hard not blame himself when he had been away, chasing a whimsical dream while his dad had been shot. It was hard not to blame himself for hardly ever visiting anymore and phone calls weren’t nearly enough to keep a bond like theirs as strong as it once had been.

“Stiles. Your father couldn’t ever wish for a better son”, Mellissa said firmly. “He’s very proud of you and I want you to get that through that thick head of yours.”

He felt the corners of his lips twitch with another smile, this one real. She smiled back and leaned in to hug him and press a motherly kiss to his temple.

“He’s going to be alright, kiddo.”

* * *

 

He had no idea how he got there: back in Chris’ car and on his way to Argent’s new home apparently.

“You need a place to stay. Somewhere that’s not… so quiet and empty right now”, Chris had said when Stiles tried to argue that he had a home here to get back to.

The house was… not what Stiles expected. He’d expected a modern apartment, minimalisticallly furnished and full of marble and steel surfaces. Instead, Chris parked in front a quaint suburban house with an impeccable lawn and a damn white fence. Stiles felt like he was dreaming.

It didn’t escape him how he parked right behind another car, something red and fast and flashy, in stark contrast with Chris’ standard grey SUV.

Had Chris met someone? Were they in a relationship or was it just a fling?

The answers started to look obvious as soon as they stepped on the patio and Stiles noted the two chairs around a small table. Chris unlocked the door and stepped back to let Stiles in. There were a few more pairs of shoes than a single guy and an ex-hunter would wear; there was also another leather jacket on the hook, except the one Chris currently wore. There was a bowl sitting on an end-table by the door and Chris threw his keys into it, right next to another pair, and stepped further into the house. Stiles followed him, even more curious.

And then he saw the pictures.

They were hanging on almost every inch of the wall in the foyer and, as Stiles looked up, all the way up the stairs. Stiles stared, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

Because the guys smiling wide from all those pictures were Chris… and Peter.

There was a picture of them in the middle of nowhere, each standing by a bike: Peter’s was a racing type while Chris’ looked heavier and more fit for longer trips. There was a selfie of the two of them in their (probably new) kitchen, both smiling in a way Stiles had never seen before, didn’t even know they were capable of. The next picture showed the two of them looking at the same direction, wearing identical black t-shirts and with identical stances.

A few of the photos looked like someone had snuck up on them: they weren’t posing and looked more natural. There was one where they looked at each other, Peter’s expression clearly saying “You know I’m right” while Chris glared stubbornly; another one where someone had captured them from aside while they were taking a selfie, grinning at their own phone.

There was a photo collage of the two of them, making heart-shapes with their hands and smiling at the camera. Another where they were on a boat, Chris’ arm thrown around Peter’s shoulder. Next one was of them in formal suits. Then, in simple white dress shirts, sitting somewhere and tired but smiling softly at the camera. On the beach, Peter squinting from the sun and Chris laughing at him. On a plane, obviously laughing on an inside joke. On their couch, Chris with a tired sleepy expression and Peter making a kissy-face.

A selfie of them drinking coffee in their garden like they were both the Queen of England, even though Chris wore a hoodie and glasses while Peter looked stylish and prim in a white shirt and a fucking scarf that reminded him painfully of Isaac. The two of them in a bar, Peter’s head thrown back as he laughed while Chris hugged him one-armed and with a small smirk, a cigarette behind his ear. Them, in another bar… with Derek. Chris was grinning wide while Derek (who wore unnecessarily sexy glasses, wtf?!) looked like he had had a few (probably wolfsbane-ladden) drinks, Peter sitting in the middle and hugging them both. And then, the three of them in front of the gates of some stadium, Derek in the middle and… and smiling so wide and free and… and Stiles couldn’t, he just couldn’t…

“You okay there?”

Stiles blinked once, twice, slowly returning to reality… where Chris and Peter were obviously a couple… who lived together in a white-fenced house with two cars and…

“Woff!”

…yep, even a fucking dog.

“I think I need a drink”, he said weakly, still staring at the picture of the two of them and a smiling Derek. Chris patted him on the back and stepped into the kitchen. Stiles followed him blindly, still in a daze.

Chris had just opened the fridge and retrieved a beer when the sound of bare feet on the stairs echoed in the foyer, getting closer. Peter’s voice sounded petulant.

“Why was I not told when you were coming back? I could have waited with my…”

Peter froze in the doorway, a literal wet dream for some and an extremely awkward sight for Stiles as he stood there, dripping water everywhere and looking genuinely surprised to see their guest.

“…shower”, he finished lamely.

Chris smacked his face with a hand and glared at his… boyfriend? through the gaps between his fingers. Peter smiled impishly.

“In my defense, the thought of finally seeing your mate after a long period of time…”

“…two days…”, Chris rolled his eyes.

“…dims any higher senses!”, Peter finished non-pulsed. Then he flashed a grin.  “And hey, there’s a towel!”

“I’m so fucking grateful for the towel”, Stiles nodded immediately, cringing at the thought of other possibilities.

Peter spread his arms. “See!”, he pointed at Chris.

The towel fell.

Stiles cursed, blushing and looking away.

Chris sighed. “Yep. We all see.”

* * *

 

“So… how did this happen?”, Stiles asked as they sat on the two deck chairs and finally sipped that beer.

“Therapy”, Chris simply said. “And don’t get me wrong, there’s still a long way to go. Everyone fights their demons at their own pace.”

As if to prove his point Peter stepped out on the porch, thankfully dressed, and had just started to smile at his partner when his head snapped up, ears perking and brows furrowing. With his human hearing Stiles didn’t get it at first; it took him a few more minutes to catch the faraway cry of a fire truck siren. By then Peter’s body was taut, nearly vibrating with nervous energy. Chris took his hand and squeezed reassuringly. Peter looked at it but not at his mate.

“It’s okay. He’s okay”, Chris muttered.

Peter’s fingers twitched in his grip. It took another moment but the wolf nodded curtly.

But it wasn’t until nearly half an hour later when his phone buzzed with a message that he was able to fully relax.

* * *

 

“Therapy hit him really hard. It was like… it revealed a whole new him. Or maybe the old him?”, Chris mused.

They were taking a walk in the preserve. There was a heavy-looking riffle balanced on Chris’ shoulder but they both knew it was mostly for show; they weren’t out for prey. Peter seemed to know that as well as he saw them out by the front door but the wolf said nothing. He was giving them that chance to talk in private.

“It was like… it was just now that he really woke up from his coma. That he realized everything and it hit him all at once: Laura’s death and being kind of responsible for it even if he’d been out of his mind. The doctors confirmed that by that time he was mentally irresponsible. That’s… not how he sees things. He blames himself. Now that he remembers everything.”

Chris’ brow was furrowed and he kicked a small rock in an uncharacteristic show of frustration.

“The only thing that saved him from a complete breakdown was that Derek reached out for him. He believed the doctors and was finally able to really forgive Peter. It’s still hard for both of them but… they’re working on it. On reestablishing and repairing Pack bonds that have them both tethered.”

“And… the two of you… how did this happen exactly?”, Stiles said, still at a loss.

Chris half-winced, half-smiled. “Well. There’s no easy way to say this. We… had a thing. Before everything went down. Way before Victoria and… Allison. So when there was nothing else left and when we both needed it… let’s say that sometimes it’s easy to rekindle an old flame.”

Chris sighed, his smile suddenly gone as a more forlorn grimace took over.

“That. And I’m kind of, part of the reason he went down that road. I had no idea, back then. I was a stupid teenager, too invested in trying to be a good son to a psychopathic father, too invested in trying to please a fucked up family. I knew nothing of mates and bonds of that sort. I knew nothing about what it would do to a wolf to be separated from a mate. So when Gerard packed me off to France I went without a fight. I didn’t resist an arranged marriage and I learnt to love that woman that my family had chosen for me. Or at least that’s what I told myself. I think… there are different levels of love. I loved the mother of my child. But the flutter when I saw Peter again was something else. The feeling when we got through everything, good and bad, through pure insanity and pain, through trauma and therapy and meltdowns… that’s a whole other thing.

“So when I realized my own sins and when he needed me most, I tried my best to be there for him. To help him reconnect the dots. Rebuilt bridges while he still can. When we learnt about Malia and how Talia had fucked around with his head to make him forget anything about his own child… I told him to fight for it. To reach out for her and fight for this chance while he still had it, while she was… alive.”

Chris smiled bitterly.

“And then _he_ was there for me when I needed it. When the memory of Allison hurt too much.”

He turned back sharply and fixed Stiles with a stern look.

“You know that it was not your fault, right? That’s the last thing we need right now: more guilt. I don’t blame you. It was simply not your fault.”

“It kind of was though. I let that thing in my own head…”, Stiles choked out.

Chris stopped walking and gripped his shoulders tight until the younger man looked up at him.

“It. Was not. Your fault. If you want to point fingers, blame us adults – for not seeing the danger you were all in and not doing anything to prevent it.”

Stiles shook his head. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Neither could you.”

They shared a long hard look.

Stiles nodded.

They resumed their walk in silence.

* * *

 

The evening chill felt good on Stiles’ skin, cooling his head and helping him finally breathe a bit easier. Or maybe it was the glass of scotch Peter deposited on the table next to him before slumping in the other deck chair.

“I still can’t fully accept that you’re now old enough to drink”, he mused.

Stiles snorted. “Yet it didn’t stop you to offer.”

Peter saluted him with his own tumbler before he took a long sip, staring into the falling dusk.

“He’s a firefighter now. Derek”, Peter suddenly said, still staring blankly ahead.

Stiles looked at him. It all made sense now: Peter’s flinch when he heard the siren, the way he relaxed when he got that message. He caught himself staring at the man’s phone. As if having read his mind, Peter smirked, took the device and fiddled with it for a second before he gave it to Stiles.

And there he was, in his damn sexy uniform with the helmet pulled back and grinning wide at the camera, holding a fucking kitten, for fuck’s sake.

“I guess it makes a good wank material for you”, Peter leered.

Stiles choked on nothing and dropped the phone on the table.

Peter laughed, shaking his head.

Stiles took a sip from his drink and tried to fight down his blush and calm down his treacherous racing heart that had all but confirmed Peter’s guess.

“But it terrifies you. Doesn’t it?”, he asked quietly.

Peter’s smile faded slowly. He shrugged. “It’s his choice”, he just said.

 _“Yes”,_ his clenched jaw and furrowed brow said.

* * *

 

It took five more days before his father was discharged, Stiles and Mellissa both fussing around him to the point of driving him completely crazy. Stubborn as he was, Noah made it perfectly clear that he was fine and could function on his own, thank you very much.

Stubbornness was something Stiles had unfortunately inherited from his dad. And while Mellissa finally relented and stepped back, Stiles was still a great pain in his father’s ass, insisting on more rest, healthier food, help with the fucking shower even – where the Sherriff promptly drew the line.

“I was shot in the left shoulder, Stiles…”

“Too close to the heart!”

“…and my right hand is just fine and I can manage a shower on my own!”

There was silence following that outburst before Noah sighed and sat down at the table, motioning to Stiles to follow his example.

“Look, son. There’s something we need to talk about. This town’s madness took its toll on me. It’s finally relatively calm but I’m not the same man that I was before… everything. I’m getting too old for this. And I need to pass on the sheriff badge.”

Stiles frowned. Was his dad saying what he thought he was saying?

“I know you had other plans. And if you still want to be an FBI agent, I get that…”

“Dad, no. I’m done with that. I had my time with the FBI and it’s not what I thought it would be.”

Noah smiled tentatively; hopefully. “Then… can I interest you with a newly vacated sheriff positon?”

Stiles eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped. It wasn’t exactly a surprise but he still didn’t believe his father would actually offer that.

His father took his expression the wrong way.

“I know it’s a lot to give up and coming back to this small town right after New York is not what you hoped for…”

“Dad, no, it’s not that…”

“Jordan will help you, I already talked to him…”

“But shouldn’t Jordan… I just came back, it’s not really fair to him…”

“Stiles. Jordan suggested it.”

“Oh.”

Noah smiled. “He thinks you’ll fit right in. As long as you want it.”

“I…”

“Take your time, you don’t have to ans-…”

“Okay”, Stiles rushed before his dad could lapse into another convincing speech.

“Yeah?”, his father smiled.

“Yeah”, Stiles smiled back.

* * *

 

Chris entered the kitchen from the backdoor, the tray in his hands full of steaks and baked potatoes. Stiles could literally see his father drooling at the sight of red meat and he shook his head. A deal was a deal: no active duty but – _meat_. The sheriff looked more than pleased with the bargain.

“People would think I’ve kept you on a leash, dad”, Stiles groaned.

“Pretty much”, Noah said, eyes glued on the steaks.

Chris chuckled as Peter served the salad and a few cold beers. Right before he sat at the table Chris filled Zoey’s bowl and ruffled her fur affectionately. Peter looked at the clock on the wall and then his eyes fell on the only vacant seat by the table. He exchanged a look with his mate. Chris shook his head.

It was almost painful to see Peter’s resigned disappointment as he joined them.

* * *

 

“This is getting ridiculous”, Jordan said.

“What is?”, Stiles asked, signing some _more_ papers. He’d had no idea how much paperwork his father had had to deal with. His father’s face, both gleeful and sympathetic when he visited and caught him dealing with stacks of papers, said it all.

“Stiles. It’s been half a year”, Jordan sounded like he was running out of patience. “You’re chief of the sheriff department. He’s chief of the fire department. It’s a _small town_. You can’t keep avoiding each other.”

“Hmm? No one’s avoiding anyone, it just… happens”, Stiles dodged.

Jordan sighed. “Right.”

And then he pulled the big guns. “Peter’s worried.”

Right. Because somewhere along the way Stiles started to care about that. And Uncle Creeper had become Peter. Who automatically added an extra plate as soon as the cruiser stopped in front of their house. Who volunteered at the hospital _and_ Eichen House and still thought it was not enough to redeem his sins _yet_ still found time to cook and box up food for Stiles because “You can’t live on takeout and ramen!” Peter, who got that silly smile on his face when Malia skyped from college or Cora – from South America.

“You know how he is with family”, Jordan added.

And wasn’t that still surreal? _Peter_. Reduced to near panic attacks when he worried for the _people_ in his life and not just his next goal.

Even more strange, Stiles was now one of those people.

He shut his laptop and sighed, rubbing his aching temples.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll… figure something.”

* * *

 

Even when Stiles tried to get a hold of Derek on crime scenes where they _were_ both _present_ , the wolf somehow managed to avoid him. Jordan was right: it was getting ridiculous. To the point where Stiles came up with just as ridiculous solution.

* * *

 

Derek had just taken off his helmet, running a hand over his sweaty brow when two deputies stepped up, both faces serious as one of them spoke,

“Chief Hale…”

“Yeah, one of my men will fill you in, guys, I just gotta….”

“…you are under arrest.”

“…Huh?!”

“You have the right to remain silent…”

“What?!”

“…can be used against you in court…”

“Guys, wait, hold up! What the…!”

But they had already cuffed him and helped him into a cruiser where,

“Okay. Just so you know. I’m not afraid of you.”

Derek stared.

Stiles stared back.

Derek burst laughing.

* * *

 

“I thought you were mad at me. For… leaving, back then. Peter told me some of the things you guys went through and… I didn’t think I had any right to…”

“Derek, stop, stop.”

They were sitting at Stiles’ favorite diner, the one that made his favorite curly fries just right, both still in their uniforms. The staff kept throwing them half-hidden glances and badly hidden smiles.

“Chris told me something a while ago. He said that the last thing we need right now is more guilt. He’s right.”

Derek nodded slowly, eyes glued on his Coke.

“So why a firefighter?”, Stiles couldn’t help but ask. “I thought…”

“That I’m scared of fire?”, Derek filed in with a little twist of his lips. “I was, in the beginning. I froze the first time on a real job. I panicked. My boss almost had my head back then”, he smirked. “But then I remembered why I got my training.”

“The same reason Peter volunteers at Eichen House and the hospital?”, Stiles asked knowingly.

Derek shrugged. “We all live with our sins. As long as we’ve made it out alive we should… make a difference. I heal faster than any of the other guys. I shouldn’t take that for granted.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that.

“The uniform suits you”, Derek suddenly said, making Stiles look up, surprised. The wolf was determinedly avoiding his eyes. Especially when he added, “That’s one other reason to… stay away from you.”

“Because… you like how I look in a uniform?”, Stiles asked.

“Because I like how you look in anything”, Derek clarified.

He looked up just in time to see Stiles smile. “Well. You really didn’t have to. Stay away, I mean. Because I like how you look in your uniform and anything else too.”

Derek grinned back.

* * *

 

There were new pictures on the wall of Chris and Peter’s house.

One was of Malia, graduating and beaming at the camera with her diploma in hand. Another one was of Cora in colorful clothes and with a tucan on her shoulder. There was even one of Isaac with his patented scarf in front of the Eifel Towel.

And then there was a photo of Stiles and Derek holding fake Oscars for best actor in drama/romance. Another one where the two of them wore formal uniforms with real medals. Them on a baseball field. Them on a boat. Stiles, sitting on a chair and making a face while his dad and Derek stood behind him, also making faces at the camera. Stiles and Derek on the porch swing, Stiles talking while Derek watched him, completely besotted. Stiles, slumped on the couch and reading while Derek was curled around him. Stiles, leaning back into Derek’s embrace, both of them wearing sunglasses as the sun shone brightly in Chris and Peter’s backyard. There was a picture of Derek kissing Stiles’ cheek while the new sheriff looked smugly at the camera and another one where Derek had his arm around Stiles’ shoulder, both smiling softly.

Finally, there was a picture of the two of them, tangled in Christmas lights and kissing in the middle of what looked like an unfinished hallway.

“I’m gonna collect most of these when we move into our new house, you know?”, Stiles said, waving at the photos of Derek and him.

Peter smirked.

“Oh, you can try, pup.”

 


	2. The pictures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And these are SOME of the pics that inspired this story :)

Petopher:

 

Sterek:

 

 

 

 


End file.
